


the way you laid your eyes on me

by LogicalBookThief



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, for once in his life, hey uhh show could you do me a solid and make alex manes happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 20:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief
Summary: From a young age, Alex learns to rate his pain. Your homophobic dad figuring out you're gay before you do ranks somewhere around an 8. Your friend abandoning you for the same reason ranks a little lower, though just barely. Losing a limb is probably the closest to a perfect 10 he's ever managed to get.Losing Michael isn't even on the scale, it's so unthinkable.





	the way you laid your eyes on me

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm, so I came for the secret alien shenanigans and got hooked on the Nicholas Sparks level of romance between Alex "I was unloved" Manes and Michael "I never look away" Guerin. Episode 5 is what did it for me because Alex is so sad and that needs to be rectified immediately.
> 
> But first, a lot of pain.

"Can you rate your pain for me, sweetie? On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the worst." He flexes his fingers, wincing at the tingling that shoots up his arm. Earlier that night, it was twisted so far behind his back he heard a _snap_.

Alex doesn't quite understand, so the nurse explains. Two for a pain he is only aware of when he pays attention. Three for a pain he's aware of but can ignore. Four for a pain he feels constantly but he can still function.

He doesn't think his father can hear, so Alex thinks it over seriously, and finally settles on, "Four."

The nurse nods, as if she expected that. Alex sits obediently through the wrap and the cast, not really listening to her words, instead drinking in her kindness, letting her soft touch spoil him with thoughts of what it might be like if his mom was still around. 

It's the sheriff who checks in on them, much to Alex's relief. Mr. Valenti looks at him as though his pain actually matters and he fights not to quiver at the friendly hand laid on his uninjured side.

"How is he?" Mr. Valenti asks the nurse. 

"A model patient," she assures, winking at Alex. He manages a small, subdued smile. 

"You're a brave boy, you know," Mr. Valenti tells Alex, squeezing his shoulder, sounding proud. Alex didn't realize how desperately he yearned to hear that until the sheriff spoke it into existence. He knows he yearns desperately, all the time, yet he's never quite put a name to what it is he yearns for.

Right now he desperately wishes Mr. Valenti was was his dad. He wishes he were Kyle, with Kyle's mom, and Kyle's near-perfect life. He wishes Kyle would come over to his house like he used to, instead of hanging with his new crowd, the ones who shouldered Alex too-hard when he walked past in the halls.

"No more rough-housing, you hear?" the nurse advises, sternly. "I had a few brothers myself, but you boys ought to take care. Don't want to worry your dad."

Alex gulps, his gaze flickering towards the door, where Sgt. Manes is waiting to bring him home. "Yes, ma'am," he says automatically, and despite his brand new cast, the twinge is worse than before. 

*

*

*

The weeks after his amputation tend to go as follows:

"You familiar with the pain scale?" Alex answers, yes. Intimately, he doesn't say.

The doctor would ask, every day for he can't count how many days, and Alex always came up with something around a 6 or a 7. At first, the responses drew suspicion, and then gradually the doctor became impressed.

"You must have a high tolerance."

Alex bites his tongue, doesn't reply with a glib, "Years of practice."

Instead he takes his morphine drip like a good soldier and lets his eyes shut, drifting back into the desert heat. 

*

*

*

When he meets Michael, Alex makes up a new scale. Isn't it fucked, he mentions to his (secret) boyfriend one night as they're splayed under the stars in the back of Michael's truck, that they have whole systems to measure pain yet none for joy?

Michael cackles, claiming it is just another symptom of the broken system. Even as he clings to cynicism, though, his eyes are fever-bright and vulnerable like he's never allowed them to be. He's staring up at the midnight sky with hope and wonder, and in that moment, Alex falls a little bit in love. 

Catching Michael Guerin's stare on him at every opportunity clocked in at a titillating 5. Nobody ever paid that much attention to Alex, much less with that level of _heat_ and _want_. It was exhilarating as it was terrifying to learn someone thought he was worth a look. Drove him to distraction, _knowing_ that someone was looking, and he started to look in turn, _really_ look, and he liked what he saw. 

Kissing Michael Guerin for the first time in the UFO museum ( _of all places for a date, why here?_ Alex laughed, arms around Michael's neck, so close his breath collides with that cocksure smirk. _Obviously,_ said Michael, voice low and reverent, _because you, Manes, are out of this world_ ) rang in at a solid 9. For weeks, it was almost all he could think about, from when he woke in the morning 'til he fell asleep at night. Maria figured it out purely by the besotted gleam to his eyes - her words, not his - and he was hard-pressed to deny. 

Finding Michael right where he left him ten years ago, after years of dreaming, wondering, and missing? Alex can't immediately identify a number - the joy is mingled with too much baggage, the unsaid truths, the bittersweet memories. But his gut is warm when Michael grasps his face and yanks him into a kiss, and for the first time since setting foot in Roswell again, Alex feels like he's home. 

*

*

*

Curtis is the Manes brother closest to his age, only a few years his senior. He's also the one who looks nearest to Alex, who took after their mom, unlike their older two brothers, who resemble their dad more in mind and body. Maybe that's why Curtis and Alex have always fallen behind in favor. 

He wouldn't say he was particularly close to any of his siblings, which isn't to say he had a bad relationship with any of them. All the Manes boys had grown up under the father's iron-thumb and were wise to the tactics of their superior officer. Between the drills and the survival training, they still played touch football and watched dumb 80s action movies on VHS; yet when there was trouble, and their father was angry, there was no solidarity to be found.

In the Manes house, there was an unspoken law of every man for himself. 

Dad cracks down hard on Curtis in his junior year of high school, exactly as he did with the older two. Except that's around the time that Dad also starts noticing Alex, paying him more attention that summer than he had for his entire life. Alex can't recall doing anything to invite this scrutiny, no acts of delinquency or unruly habits. He learns very quickly, however, that it isn't what he did but what he _is_ , and whatever he is, his dad hates it, wants him to stop.

Except Alex doesn't know _how_. Whatever it is, whatever facet of him that can't be undone, he gets the feeling it's his fault, somehow, and his brother seems to sense this, too. And while Jesse is busy trying to beat his youngest son straight, Curtis begins to slip under the radar again. And in a twisted way, he's sort of grateful to his brother. 

Sergeant Manes was never one to tolerate weakness among his soldiers and or one to indulge. None of the boys would normally risk his ire on behalf of a brother, yet for a while there... For a while, Alex would be huddled on his bed, sniffling and shivering, and Curtis would sit at the edge of his bed with a peanut-butter sandwich, crusts removed, along with a glass of strawberry milk. He'd sit quietly as Alex ate, and then he'd pull out a book to read, aloud, doing the voices all wonky and funny until Alex would croak out a laugh. Sometimes they would sit like that for half the night, even if school was the next day.

They were tiny gestures, limited by their father's vigilance, but they amounted to a lot. When Curtis leaves for basic training, Alex is more crushed than he was by either of his other siblings. At least with Curtis in the house, Alex could almost believe he was a _hero_ for diverting the attention. With his brother gone, he was left with only his father, and the unheroic truth. 

*

*

*

Everyone thinks the loss of the leg is the part that hurts the most - and admittedly, it wasn't fucking _pleasant_ by any stretch of the word. Between the adrenaline and the shock, though, Alex wavered along the indistinct line of numb and agony. It was a defense mechanism, the mind tricking his body into believing he was okay, that he would survive through sheer stubbornness.

Now the phantom aches, _those_ are what do him in - a profound, teeth-gnashing pain that rips him from sleep either deep in the night or in the wee hours before dawn. Yet the minute he tries to locate the source, cauterize the wound, that's when Alex remembers there is nothing left to salvage.

Loving Michael is exactly like a phantom ache. Yearning for his touch, needing to feel the comfort of his body, and then reaching for the space next to him in bed only to find it empty.

Of course, Alex is more to blame for this than anyone else. He decides to rectify that, if he still can. No doubt where he'll find Michael to make amends, he thinks as parks in the lot of the Wild Pony around eight on a Thursday night. Sure enough, a swift glance around the bar reveals Michael-

With Maria. 

Alex goes tense, convinced he's misunderstood. But there isn't a lot of room for misinterpretation, the way Michael is leaning over the bar, talking low and sweet, as if they're the only two people in the whole room. He can almost feel the cascade of breath tickling over her ear, causing her to laugh (Maria's laugh is mystifying; anyone would be enchanted). He is familiar with the patented Michael Guerin technique. 

The flirting shouldn't bother him as much as it does. Alex would be a fool to think there hasn't been anyone in the decade they've been apart. Hell, Michael boasted about it outright. Knowing is knowing, but then there's _seeing_ the guy you love, present tense, moving on - with his friend, one of his best friends, and of all the people to hurt Alex with what the actual _fuck_ , Michael - and without a whole ocean and desert to separate you from that blow, it's decimating. The sheer proximity to Michael on any given day suffocates, but in the dim entryway of the bar, Alex struggles to catch his breath. 

Over the drone of music, he hears a distant _snap_ , except his arm is fine; this time, it's his heart that fractures. He turns on his heel and leaves before he can even be noticed.

 _Running away?_ a voice that sounds too suspiciously close to Guerin echoes in his head. 

Alex jams his keys into the ignition so hard it reverberates through his hand. _Not like I can **run** anywhere. _

He sticks to the cabin after work for the next week. Half-heartedly ignores Liz and Maria's texts for a week, which isn't fair to them, when it's his own mistakes and regret that have driven him to this point. He drowns the guilt in some of Mr. Valenti's aged scotch, as the old man didn't leave him much else, unless you count the secret bunker down below.

Maybe that was the reason he confided in Alex - maybe he saw in him another man who hid vital parts from those who most deserved to see. So well that sometimes he swore he barely knew himself. 

Shockingly, it's Kyle who darkens his doorstep more often than not, usually with the ice-breaker of a six-pack or take-out. On these nights, Alex can almost pretend they're kids again - except instead of building treehouses and blanket forts, they've formed their own little conspiracy club. He suspects the visits are simultaneously to atone for years of assholery _and_ because Alex is the only person with whom he can freely discuss his father (Kyle chose not to tell Liz about Rosa's parentage, for obvious, heart-breaking reasons). 

Lately, though, Kyle has shared some disquieting information about Alex's dad: blackmail, intimidation, alien conspiracies. The Alex of a few weeks ago would've scoffed at the last part, but the Alex of a few weeks ago hadn't found a shard of alien glass in the wall of Jim's secret room. Perhaps, Alex reflects, he should share this with Kyle, who's been pretty forthcoming with what Jesse Manes is up to. But he can't shake the feeling that this is merely a piece of a larger picture - that Kyle knows far more than he's telling. So he moves the glass to a new, secure hiding spot and puzzles over in his spare time, alone. 

"Not to sound like a broken record, but it's brave, you know. Going against your own father..." Kyle trails off, awkwardly. "What I mean is, I appreciate all your help."

 _You're a brave boy, you know?_ He's heard it countless times since he returned to Roswell. From Mr. Ortecha, Maria, the _mailman,_ and now Kyle. Everyone but Michael, who's always known what Alex truly is: Afraid.

"So brave," Alex mutters, the sarcasm thick as the syrupy taste of liquor on his tongue.

Maybe he wouldn't have had to be so brave, if he'd ever felt safe. 

*

*

*

Mrs. Manes is somewhat of a mystery to the town of Roswell. Even to her own children, there's more fiction that fact on her abrupt departure. Alex doesn't remember her all that much. The eldest Manes boys do, but that's only made them more reluctant to mention her over the years.

Once, Alex dared to ask his dad; it was the morning after she disappeared. Alex had checked every nook and cranny of the house, even those only he was small enough to fit in. Still in his pajamas - the warm, fuzzy kind Mom had given him for Christmas - Alex crept up to his dad, who was silently nursing a drink. Gathering his courage, he asked where she was.

"Gone," Jesse replied. Come to think of it, there was no bitterness when he answered, as Alex would have expected. Even back then, the apathy had shaken him to his core.

His next question wasn't where or when, but _why?_ And for the first time in his memory, his dad picked Alex up and placed him on his knee. He marveled at how tall he felt there, how untouchable. 

"Your mom suffered from a weakness in spirit." He tapped at Alex's chest, where his pulse jumped skittishly. "A weak heart."

He didn't understand, not then, yet some off-key note in his dad's tone scared him enough that he nodded as if he did. He clamored off his lap and decided to find his breakfast that morning (and every morning after). 

"Sometimes I think you inherited too much of her," Jesse murmured, almost soft enough to miss. Alex pretended he hadn't heard.

*

*

*

It is inevitable, Alex supposes. There are inevitable things in life. The sun, the stars. The way Michael Guerin lays his eyes on him when nobody's watching. 

And if given the opportunity, Jesse Manes will inevitably come along to ruin Alex's life.

He shows up at dusk, unannounced. This is particularly disturbing, considering that Alex never specified where he was staying. Lucky Kyle didn't come around that evening; Alex doesn't know how they would explain _that_ , unless his father assumed his alien-hunting protégé was one of his son's sordid trysts. 

"Can I help you?" he asks, tacking on a sardonic, _"Sir?"_

Jesse glares, unimpressed. "We need to talk," he says brusquely. Brushes past his son as if boundaries don't exist, which for his dad, is pretty on par.

Alex sighs through his nose, tamps down on the tension ticking up his spine. So far, there's no reason to believe this isn't the usual bullshit about being a disappointment to the family name. No reason for his dad to believe he's hiding anything alien-related.

"If it's about my performance at work, then this isn't the place to discuss it," he reminds. "And if its a father-son heart-to-heart, I'd really prefer we didn't."

"See you've forgotten your manners, hiding out here," observes Jesse. He peruses the room, glancing at the contents of his bookcase. "Must not get many visitors."

"I keep to myself," says Alex, defensive. "Wouldn't want me out there embarrassing anyone."

"Well, that's not entirely true," Jesse drawls, completely ignoring the bait. Alex's stomach caves in. "Valenti's visited quite a few times these past couple weeks."

"What, you've resorted to spying on me?" He conceals the worry with disgust; the fact that this has become common knowledge is deeply unsettling. "Kyle wanted to get a few things Jim left in the cabin."

Jesse snaps to attention. "Like what?"

"His fishing gear," Alex replies. "Said it had sentimental value."

As his father circles the room, Alex resists the urge to let his eyes wander towards the coffee table. "Did Jim leave anything else for him to find?"

"Couldn't say. Not any of my business." Alex grabs the reigns of the conversation before it can be yanked back. "And what business of it is _yours_ what Mr. Valenti kept here, anyway?"

His father doesn't answer. But he's clearly not done here, either. 

"Keeping any other company?" His gaze flicks to Alex's face, faux curious. "For instance, that Guerin boy..."

At mention of Michael, Alex's poker-face swiftly dissolves. For one, terrible moment, he is stricken, and that gives his father the upper-hand. Alex hastens to get back under control, but it's difficult, now that the seed of fear is planted in his head. 

"Tell you the truth, we don't see that much of each other these days," he says mildly.  

"I'd respect you taking my advice," Jesse retorts. "If that were, in fact, the truth."

He says it like a judge appointing a verdict; Alex feels like a convict as he averts his gaze. He's a kid again, caught in the act, and all the ground he gained starts to crumble beneath his feet. 

"For as close as you two were... " Here Jesse's lip curls, like he's tasted something unsavory, before he schools it back to calm. "Bet he's said plenty related to his illicit dealings."

"You've got it all wrong. Michael Guerin doesn't give a shit about me," Alex spits. The possibility of truth in the lie nearly cracks his resolve. "Maybe you two can bond over that."

His father slams his fist against the wall, a scant few inches from Alex's face. 

"Watch your tone." He's never raised his voice to his sons. Never had to, not with the way Alex barely suppresses a flinch. Three tours in Iraq, survived a leg amputation, yet part of him is still the same little kid. Scared, different, and so very alone. "That man is a threat to national security and you're _protecting_ him!"

So that's how it is, Alex surmises, the disgust plain in his father's tone. The crossed wires in his dad's brain must have latched onto Michael's illegal activities and made a half-cocked connection to his conspiracy. If he's this agitated over it, there's no telling what he'll do to pursue this. God knows the sergeant isn't above physical force and it isn't as though Michael's a model citizen by any stretch of the word. 

Jesse Manes can do practically whatever he wants and nobody will bat an eye. The thought of what he may do to Michael churns Alex's stomach. 

"Is that what this is? For Christ's sake, Dad. He has nothing to do with any of your conspiracy bullshit!" he explodes. "And frankly, this whole interrogation is unbecoming for a man of your rank."

His father's whole expression darkens. "I have evidence to suggest that Guerin is far more than some two-bit gambler."

"Oh?" If that evidence was _concrete,_ he wouldn't be shaking Alex down for confirmation. "Sure you're not just reaching because he's the one who fucked around with your son?"

The true nature of their relationship must've occurred to Jesse Manes at least once. Michael wasn't discreet with his other trysts, who have included men and women across the board, even if the latter tended to feature more. Still, Alex has never, ever clarified that out loud, for anyone to hear. It's way over the line, he knows. It's why he said it. 

No more backing down. No more giving up at the cost of losing Michael.

He didn't plan on taking the hit without a proper fight, but it happens so fast. His crutch is ripped out of his grip, upsetting his balance, and before he can stagger upright it smashes into his stomach. He reels back at the burst of white-hot pain, gasping like he's gonna puke. The lack of support sends him sprawling into the wall, where he's steadied by a hand at his throat. Grimly, Alex remembers what a lifetime of military service can do.

"You never make it easy," Jesse sneers. He sounds resigned by his disappointment. "Now when I ask a question, you tell me the truth."

"C'mon, Dad," Alex grunts. He wheezes out a laugh, constricted by the thumb digging into the curve of his throat. "You've never been one to handle the truth."

It earns him another blow, but Alex is well-versed in this drill. Take the pain, collect it, make it your own. Probably the only worthwhile lesson his dad ever taught. 

*

*

*

He spends the night in fragments of consciousness. It feels like his hip is on-fire, an effect of wearing the prosthetic too long, which Alex wasn't too concerned about when he hauled his body off the floor and onto the couch some point after his father stormed off. He fumbles to remove it before succumbing to another pulsing wave of exhaustion. and when he next wakes, sunlight's already touched the windows. And there's a flurry of knocks at the door.  

"Shit," Alex whispers, struggling to wrench his body vertical. His crutch is across the room, abandoned. Fortunately, or unfortunately in this case, the person at the door knows where he hides the key. 

"What the hell?" Kyle blanches, hissing through his teeth. " _Alex!"_  

"I'm fine," Alex rasps. He reaches blindly, fingers clenching around air. "I need my–"

"Let me see first," Kyle orders. He examines the leg, ensuring there's no new damage. Alex doesn't even have a chance to be embarrassed before he's demanding, "Where does it hurt?"

 _Everywhere_. Alex inhales, acutely aware of every throb. "Eight," he mumbles.

Kyle only furrows his brows with increasing concern.

"Can I take this off?" he asks gently, every bit the doctor.

Alex nods as Kyle carefully tugs off his shirt. His bare chest reveals the ugly splotch of blue, purple and green. He winces at Kyle's prodding and waves away the muttered apologies. 

"Far as I can tell, no internal damage," Kyle declares. "But I'd prefer to confirm it at the hospital, after we call my mom-"

 _"No,"_ he snaps. At the stricken face he gets, Alex slumps with a sigh. "It wouldn't help."

Kyle freezes at the unspoken hint there. After all, there's only one person Sheriff Valenti can't touch with her jurisdiction. 

"Sonuvabitch," he swears. 

"He didn't find your dad's bunker. Don't think he knows it exists," Alex offers. He huffs, the noise half a laugh. "Guess we lucked out."

Kyles catches his eye, a notch below hysterical. "You think I care about _that_ right now when you-"

_"What the fuck is going on?"_

Both of them jolt. Despite being sat on the couch, Alex nearly keels over. In the doorway of his cabin, silhouetted by the midmorning sun, stands Michael in all his furious glory. Two inescapable details flood over him at once: Kyle must not have locked the door behind him. And Guerin must have followed him here.

He can't imagine how this appears. Stripped of his shirt, with Kyle kneeling between his legs, a fresh bruise blossoming on the visible side of his face. Michael's eyes are glowing amber as they rake in the scene, fists trembling at his sides.

"Guerin? How about you explain what _you're_ doing here?" Kyle barks. There's an extra weight to the words, not just the usual disdain for one another. Alex gets the distinct impression he's missing a part to this confrontation. He prepares to intervene, straightening with purpose, but the movement tears a thin, awful groan from his throat. 

It's almost comical how quickly Michael strides across the room, shoving Kyle aside and dropping to his knees in front of Alex. Yet there's nothing funny in how he runs his hands over every inch of Alex, almost frantic in his search. "Are you okay?" he murmurs, low and rough and so fucking tender.

Alex shudders under the scrutiny. He's seventeen, suddenly, and his worst fear isn't just his father discovering he's found a boy who loves him, but his father discovering it's _Michael,_ and that Michael suffers for something he knew better to hide. That is one thing he could never bear.

Problem is, Alex has kept the fear locked up for so long he doesn't know how to explain it now, and all he can manage is a whisper. _"Michael."_

Saying his name aloud seems to twist the knife of resolve. Michael's jaw tightens in a way Alex has seen with soldiers who've lost friends and fill the void with revenge.

"Who did this?" he seethes. The lights in the cabin flicker dangerously. Kyle watches warily as a mug shatters onto the ground. "Alex, c'mon. Tell me. _Who?"_

Rather than answer, Alex collapses into him; first to flag his rage, and then because he _needs_ it, needs to be as close to Michael as possible. So he buries his stinging eyes in the crook of Michael's neck reveling in the warm, beating pulse against his cheek. Slowly, it seeps the tension out of Michael, who ducks down and swiftly envelopes him in a tight, crushing embrace. Alex makes a quiet, relieved noise. 

"Hey, hey. I've got you," Michael soothes, ghosting lips over his temple. He presses in a kiss, firm, unhurried. Unashamed. "Promise, I've got you."

On the scale of pain, it doesn't even register. Or maybe he's finally found his balm. All Alex has to do is breathe in the heady, desert scent of Michael and everything else slip away. 

**Author's Note:**

> All the comments Michael made about Alex "running to tell your daddy" make me think he is definitely unaware of how Jesse physically abused his son and if the show doesn't eventually deal with that revelation I will be highly disappointed. 
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy this! And tell me what you thought down below!


End file.
